Not Slytherin
by YouCanCallMeSir
Summary: A series of one shots, describing how each first year got Sorted and everything. This was written by my eleven-year-old sister, but it's not the kind of rubbish you'd expect an eleven-year-old to write. I swear, she's a whiz kid (and she knows it and brags about it too). Don't write flamers, my sister might just burst into tears.
1. Neville Longbottom

**Oh, hello, Fanfiction! This is my first story on Fanfiction, which I didn't even write. That's right, this was written by my younger sister. So basically, the only one who's going to actually****_ use _****this account is my little sister. *Facepalm***

**DISCLAIMER: I don't know, maybe JK Rowling will die in five minutes and, for some reason, give the ownership of Harry Potter to me. But for now, JK Rowling is very much ALIVE and I... don't own the greatest book series in the world. Sad face :(**

**Oh, and by the way, my sister says she didn't mean to insult Hufflepuff in this chapter. This is just Nevilles mindset. She's a Puffie herself :)**

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**Chapter 1: Neville Longbottom**

He'd been at Hogwarts for about five minutes, and his whole year already thought he was a complete _idiot_. Not that he wasn't used to people snickering behind his back, but still, _five minutes. _They hadn't even been _Sorted _yet, for crying out loud! With his luck, he'd end up in Hufflepuff. Wouldn't his Gran be proud: a Hufflepuff amidst a family that'd been Gryffindors for as long as anyone could remember. Oh well, he'd rather be a Hufflepuff than a Squib.

He was desperately trying to tidy himself up after Mcgonagall's gaze so obviously lingered on him when she told them to do so. He could hear a girl- Hermione, was that her name? – wondering (out loud) if the 'sorting test' was difficult, and if they required to perform spells, and what kind of spells they had to do. Neville almost rolled his eyes. He already knew that they only had to try on a grubby hat (the information provided by his pure-blood family) and, besides, who would ask them to try spells when most of them hadn't even held a wand properly before? He would usually say that out loud, but kept silent, for fear of sounding stupid.

Mcgonagall led them in. Neville's feet, for some reason, were paralyzed (probably in fear) resulting in him having to shuffle along into the Great Hall, which _obviously _ended with him tripping over someone else's foot.

Great. Now the whole school would think he was an idiot.

He couldn't help looking up and wondering if there was a ceiling, despite his family telling him about how the Great Hall had a bewitched ceiling that was made to look like the sky outside. The Hermione girl voiced this a few seconds later. Neville wondered how she knew that. She was Muggleborn, wasn't she? It wasn't like she had an all-wizard family to tell her about Hogwarts. Neville had already begun to dislike her. Not because she was smart, because she was smarter than him. Everybody seemed to be smarter than him.

He diverted his attention away from the ceiling and looked at the Sorting Hat, who began to sing its song (again, which his family told him about) about the four Houses. He already knew most of the information the Hat provided. The hat scared him. How in the world could the Hat talk, or think, or even _sing _for that matter?

Mcgonagall, who already had a scroll, probably about to read out the names of the first years to come up and be sorted. They went in alphabetical order (or so he was told), so that meant Neville was somewhere in the middle (his surname was Longbottom) so Neville sighed in relief. A good many people went before him, so he could just copy what they did and make his way to the Hufflepuff table without making a complete fool of himself.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

She went into Hufflepuff. Oh, they would be in the same house. He could make friends with her, if she liked making friends with complete losers.

Neville couldn't hear most of the names being called, what with the blood pounding in his ears… _why was there blood pounding in his ears?_ He told himself to calm down, but he wouldn't listen… to himself. _Who doesn't listen to themselves?_ He thought. Neville then made a mental note to get himself checked out by a Healer next time he visited his parents in St. Mungos.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Neville braced himself for the shout of "Ravenclaw!" that was sure to come. For some odd reason, she went into Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat had obviously made a mistake. Maybe it would make a mistake with him and put him into Gryffindor too, he thought. Maybe then his Gran would finally proud of him… he doubted it.

The prospect of his name being called made Neville go weak in the knees. He stopped again to calm himself down. Then somebody nudged him. He looked up to see who it was. Seamus Finnigan, another boy who he met on the train (who, incidentally, also thought he was a complete idiot) was pointing at the Sorting Hat. Why? Then he shoved him towards the stool where people being Sorted had to sit. Was he being sorted? Was he supposed to try it on? He had seen about eighteen people go about this process, but his mind was blank. Feeling rather daft, he tried the Hat on. It didn't cover his eyes, it rested on his abnormally large ears (which everybody made fun of) instead.

He wasn't scared now, he felt rather glum. All he could do now was sit and wait for the shout of "Hufflepuff!" Maybe Hufflepuff wasn't that bad. Maybe it was full of idiots like him…

He heard a voice in his head. "Feeling all right there, chap? You're shaking. Ah… you are going to be a hard one."

"Are you cunning? Not particularly, are you?" Neville mumbled in assent.

"You aren't clever, either. Very self-conscious, I see."

"I am not self-conscious!" He muttered

" In denial, as well. Where do I put you? Brave… we'll see. Loyal… ah, yes." Neville's heart sank. Hufflepuff for sure.

"However, you wouldn't make a very good Hufflepuff." Was he no good for any house, then? Neville was officially a wizard failure.

"Now, I don't know exactly where to put you, but don't make me regret my choice later."

Neville didn't hear what house the Hat said next, but it sounded like 'Gryffindor!'. No, he must've heard wrong. He made his way to the Hufflepuff table, but he realized that the hat was still on his head. He rushed back to the stool and put the Hat back on it. He could hear everybody laughing.

Mcgonagall muttered "Don't disgrace my House already, boy."

Mcgonagall was Head of Gryffindor. That must mean…

No, it couldn't be.

He was elated, but also a little sad. The Hat had made a second mistake. He couldn't belong in Gryffindor. He couldn't be brave. It must have been a mistake.

He didn't know that the Sorting Hat _never _makes mistakes.

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**That was my little sister's attempt at a good fanfic. No flamers, guys, she's 11 and she ****_might just _****burst into tears if you say anything bad about it...**


	2. Draco Malfoy

**Hello! My sister just disowned her FanFiction account and gave it to me.**

**And I just read Twilight! I will not express my pure hate for it so as not to be bombarded with hate mail.**

**On a lighter note, I don't own Harry Potter!**

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**Chapter 2: Draco Malfoy**

Draco didn't know how he was going to survive the day, let alone the whole school year. He was _there. _He was actually _there. _In the rubbish dump they called 'Hogwarts'. In his opinion, Hogwarts was a _stupid _school, with _stupid _rules, and a _stupid _gamekeeper, and above all, a _stupid _Headmaster. Oh, and don't even get him _started _about the students. Everyone in his year seemed like complete idiots already, save two thuggish-looking creatures called Crabbe and Goyle. Well, they were idiots too. They were just the only people there that seemed to absolutely adore him.

If he didn't get put in Slytherin, he would take the train straight home.

Who was he kidding, he _would _get put in Slytherin.

Would he?

He didn't feel very cunning at the moment.

Urgh, he didn't need to add that to his list of worries.

The train ride was an absolute nightmare. So was the boat ride. They had to _row _across a lake. On their own! Didn't Hogwarts have house-elves to do that for them? He was liking Hogwarts less and less every minute.

They were all shoved into the castle and then had to listen to a professor rant on and on about how 'triumphs will earn you house points, but any rule-breaking will lose you house points.' The professor then left them alone for a few minutes, allowing Draco to take a good look at all of his potential classmates.

None of them looked very promising. He tried to predict what house each one of them would be sorted into. He'd see if he was right later. He probably would be right. Draco was an extraordinary judge of character, if he did say so himself.

He heard a girl- he would later find out that her name was Hermione Granger- babbling on about what spells she thought she would be required to use during the 'Sorting test'. Spells? _They had to try on a flaming hat! _Draco didn't suppose she knew that. She was probably a Mudblood if she didn't know that. Draco shuddered at the thought of being put in the same house as a Mudblood. They wouldn't allow filthy Mudbloods into Slytherin, would they? It was a definite possibility. Anything was possible when Muggle-loving, self-righteous Albus Dumbledore was head of the school.

Draco grew impatient. He saw some of the people surrounding him staring at the talking portraits- like they were all that special. Most of his year looked positively shocked when the Fat Friar came up to them and wished them good luck. The Friar said he hoped to see some of them in Hufflepuff. Most of them probably would end up in Hufflepuff, judging by how stupid they seemed to be, Draco reasoned. He didn't know if any of his year were pure-blood. They all seemed to jump at the most ordinary things. That meant that Draco better find some worthwhile friends in other year groups- or he was doomed to sitting around with filthy-blooded creatures for the most part of the next seven years. However, the seeming lack of pure-bloods also comforted Draco- he would have an obvious advantage over them.

He would have an obvious advantage over them even if they were pure-blood, he thought. People kept telling him he was a most extraordinary boy.

His eyes swam over his fellow first-years and they stopped at Harry Potter. He was the only person who Draco thought was worth making friends with in this hellhole, but- for some reason- he rejected him for… that _Weasley _boy. Weasley was a pure-blood. However, he was such a Muggle-lover- or at least Weasley's dad was- that he was as good as a Mudblood. Potter would realise his mistake later and come running back to him.

He was so preoccupied by his own thoughts that he didn't even see the rest of his year being ushered into the Great Hall. Draco jogged after them and finally caught up.

Now all the first years were staring up at the ceiling- probably wondering if there was one. Draco heard the girl from before telling them all that the ceiling had been bewitched to look like the sky outside (she claimed she had read it in _Hogwarts: A History_). Great. She was a swot as well as a Mudbood.

The first years were also peering around the Great Hall curiously. Draco wanted to join them: he was pretty curious himself. But they looked pathetic doing that and he knew that the eyes of all the students who weren't in their first year were on him (and the others), so he refrained from doing so.

The Sorting Hat began to sing some song about the four Houses. Draco listened for the first twenty seconds. He then realized the song contained all the rubbish his family had already told him about, so he tuned the Sorting Hat out and began to wonder- for the first time- what House he was to be in.

He'd always taken the fact that he would be put in Slytherin for granted.

What would happen if he got put in Ravenclaw?

He was pretty clever.

What about Gryffindor?

He was reasonably brave.

Or- God forbid- _Hufflepuff. _

He'd be disowned.

Kicked out of the house at the very least.

Thankfully, the song ended, so Draco didn't have any more time to contemplate over the horror of him being put anywhere but Slytherin.

"Abbot, Hannah!" he heard.

Draco would be somewhere in the middle, since his last name started with an M.

The line slowly progressed, and to Draco's surprise, the know-it-all girl got put in _Gryffindor._ Good. He wouldn't have to worry about her being in Slytherin.

A stupid-looking boy called "Longbottom, Neville!" ran off with the Hat still on his head. Draco laughed along with everybody else, until he realized: he was probably next in line.

Sure enough, he heard his name.

His legs felt like they were made of jelly.

Stop it. Calm down. Everyone's watching you.

He walked up onto the stage nonchalantly, like his heart wasn't beating at two hundred and ninety times a minute. Draco was a good actor. One of his many talents.

He walked calmly to the stool upon which the Sorting Hat rested, and tried it on. It was too big for him.

He heard a shout of "Slytherin!"

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**Maybe I made Malfoy too prejiduced. Oh well. **


End file.
